Home
by cdewinter78
Summary: For Callen, "Home" is an illusive four letter dream. Sometimes chasing it hurt, most of the time pretending you didn't need one hurt more. This is based on Paul Macartney's song I want to Come Home.Spans Callens life.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N ; This came to me whilst listening to the credit music in a film. So I guess that makes this a Song Fic? Actually it's more of a collection of one-shots from Callen's life that will be linked (sometimes loosely) by the theme of Home. Any feedback welcome, as this is my first song-fic.**

* * *

_**Home CH-1 **_

_**For so long  
I was out in the cold  
And I taught myself to believe  
Every story I told  
It was fun hanging onto the moon  
Heading into the sun  
But it's been too long  
Now I want to come home **_

_**(From the song (I Want To) Come Home by Paul McCartney)**_

"So your name is really just … G?" the little lisping whisper reached him in the dark.

"I thought you, didn't need my help?" the neutral voice whispered back evenly.

"Shut up both of youse – or Old man Kline will come back in here and take someone's hide; and it sure is not going to be mine!" the eldest of the three voices hissed loudly.

"C'mon Lewis – don't you remember your first night… stop being such a jerk."

"Fine G – you want to play Mother Goose – go for it, just leave me out of it when the two of you morons are busted." Lewis gripped, rolling over on the over sprung metal bed frame.

The sandy haired fourteen year old shook his head at Lewis' back. "Haven't I always?"

The question went unanswered as Lewis faked a light snore.

G turned his eyes towards the rooms newest occupant, a week ago that had been his position. He sized up the considerably younger child. It was a knack he'd picked up along the way here. Reading people served him well; it kept him more or less in one piece. This inmate had not been in the system for as long as he and Lewis he could tell immediately. It wasn't the kid's first placement, for although his young doe brown eyes glistened in the moonlight whenever he glanced over, the boy had not given out that scared out of your wits vibe. That brand of fear was usually accompanied by a type of crying that to G's ear was different from all the other sounds of fear, loneliness and even dread he had heard leaked out of other children's mouths. He could barely remember his own first night – he had been five. He was pretty certain he cried though, everyone cried. No matter how much you lucked out with the type of Foster Career you landed with, it was never going to be home.

"What'd' a say your name was kid?" G asked.

"Irving" the small voice timidly replied.

"Oh geez!" Lewis groaned softly "Couldn't your parents have given you the pocket protector, and nerd pants to go with the ass whopping that little treasure is going to earn you?"

"Can it Lewis …"G returned in an irritated voice.

"What's in it for me?" the older boy rolled over to glare at G pointedly.

"I'll get you Caroline's number tomorrow… if you stay real quiet, I will see what I can do about that first date."

Lewis' face twitched in thought. G Callen was admittedly, a quick talking smartass, and that had its benefits after all.

"Fine – but I pick the place and you foot the bill?!" Lewis pushed.

Callen ground his teeth bemoaning the speed at which he'd have to talk to get Caroline within ten yards of Lewis. But he kept his calm.

"Deal! Now shut up?"

Turning his attention back to the youngster, Callen went on in a soothing tone.

"Ok Irv, you been in many places before this one?"

The young boy swept a stray dark lock away from his eyes as he watched Callen with renewed interest.

"Two others. One last week, it had too many kids and the couple was getting real cranky, and the other was the…."

The young boy halted in his tale, his eyes becoming glassy. He looked every inch the seven years Callen presumed him to be.

"That was the first home they took you to after your folks passed?"G gently stated rather than asked.

The resultant sniffle was all the confirmation he needed. Slapping on the brightest grin he could muster in the face of the raw sadness he traced in Irving's eyes, he carried on.

"Listen kid … it's not so bad, we all get along just fine."

Callen ignored the loud snort from the third bed, and the twinge of conscience that told him Irv would find out the truth sooner rather than later. But Callen had learned that he could only deal the problem in front of him in the here and now, aint no telling where you'd be when the next one showed up. Irv needed to learn the basics.

"You **will** learn to get along – we were all where you are now… once." Callen threw the sentiment over his shoulder at Lewis.

Irving nodded rapt in Callen's voice, never taking his eyes off the older boy, as if he were about to hear the hidden location of his happy ending.

"First the basic stuff. Always carry anything valuable on you – always. And always in different places… you know socks, inside jacket linings, you can poke hole's inside padded coats that works pretty well. Also, write on everything, that way when you get moved in hurry, you actually have a hope of getting your stuff shipped on to you. When you meet Careers take their name down – the good ones love that connection stuff, and the others… well you get asked a lot of questions, it's a good detail to reel off to make it appear like your listening. When you first go into a home watch for two things – the head kid, you'll recognize them… they are usually at the front of any groups and mostly get their hands on things first, food, clothes, and watch for the way the Career shakes your hand. I'll show you tomorrow… it's easier than trying to describe it." G let his voice trail off, his mind subconsciously wandering to darker places.

A small voice brought him back. "You sure know a lot – G. But won't we be adopted in a while, then all this moving stuff won't count right? I mean there's no-one I'll ever call Mom… but I miss … home." Irv's voice quivered.

Without warning Callen found his eyes tear and he exhaled as discretely as he could when Irv broke his gaze to swat at his eyes. It was like the kid had opened that door that G usually kept dead bolted. He had been seven and a half when he'd slammed the door on that particular four letter word. He had been in one too many adoption line ups and his last placement had taught him the full danger of looking to please adults too much. He had remembered the name though; and at seven and a half he had made the neatest letters he had every made on the police officers notebook. For a moment he doubted what he was doing here with Irving. Maybe Lewis was right, he should break the truth to the kid early, before the truth broke him?

He jumped with a start into a sitting position as a small cold hand touched his arm. Irving hovered by his side. He blew out a breath before daring to look at the boy.

"I didn't mean to make you sad G." the boy stated simply.

And that just about nailed Callen. How could he choose between saving the kid now – by just letting him be a kid for a little while longer, or saving him – in order that he survive long enough to grow up? Then out of nowhere Lewis proved why G had taken such a liking to him.

"You're going to have to forgive G kid – he suffers from this memory loss thing that makes him kind of zone out. He's not sad, he's a Space Cadet … can't even remember his own name!" Lewis deadpanned.

Callen broke into a broad grin at the teasing – and the save.

A voice accompanied by three sharp bangs interrupted them all.

"Will you pups quit yer yapping…. Or I'll come in there and so help you!" Mr. Kline's gruff booming voice penetrated the wall and appeared to sink into Irving's imagination.

The boy looked a little scared. G stood up silently and walked him back to his own bed. Pulling the covers round the child he whispered close to his ear.

"There is always hope, but until it arrives, be watchful."

As he got back into his own bed he caught Lewis' eye. The elder boy nodded at him and then turned away whispering.

"Forget Caroline – how much fun can she be if she listens to you anyway?"

G smiled as he crossed his hands behind his head. Staring at the ceiling he reminded himself that even in a real home it was the people who shared their lives there that gave that place meaning.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N; This is a little darker than the last one for content, and possibly language. It references the event described BY Callen during the episode 'Keeping it Real' - you'll know the one!!! Thanks to all who have read this, and especially to those who have taken the time to review. And for those of you who wanted the 'happier' homes - that's coming next.

This story was inspired by Paul McCartney's (I want to) Come Home. I don't own, Paul, his song, Ncis La - or sadly Callen!!!

**

* * *

Home Ch 2 **

_**Came so close  
To the edge of defeat  
But I made my way in the shade  
Keeping out of the heat  
It was fun shooting out of the stars  
Looking into the sun  
But it's been too long  
Now I want to come home  
(I want to – Come Home) Paul McCartney. **_

He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried. As he tasted the salt that ran down his cheeks unchecked, he knew exactly why he chose this place, this time, to vent his emotions. Where else but alone, where people buried things, could he cry? It seemed pointless anywhere else. It didn't matter anyway. Callen, even had to remind himself that shedding tears meant something… but that was only because he had meant something, and now he was gone.

Savagely he dragged his sleeve across his face. Tears swept up by the rough plaid material. He saluted the disturbed earth with his awful tasting bottle of the South's finest.

"Here's to you. Here's to living fast and dying stupid!!" his voice cracked and his sharp blue eyes blurred and spilt all the beans he could not tell his friend while he was alive.

His comments were directed at the wooden grave marker that stood at a jaunty angle, declaring the final resting place of Jason Tedrow.

The liquor burned his throat on the way down. He wasn't a big drinker. In truth his hand had shaken before he had begun to recklessly empty the bottle's contents. The smell of the alcohol reared up the same ugly images he was trying to drown with it. He knew this was a stupid move, way before his balance became impaired, and the scent took a stranglehold of his memories.

In an instant he was back in that living room. Watching, the grown man in front of him ball up his fists, at his sides. Callen could practically taste the beating in the air, and it was all his fault. He dared to glance at Jason as he began to lay down a wafer thin cover story. The cocky seventeen year old is doing his best to hold it together, they have been caught out in the open; no hiding place here. They had broken curfew because G had found the girl of his dreams and Jason was a push over for a happy ending.

Callen swears his eyeballs swerve in their sockets as the backhander he received for "not paying attention", makes itself felt. Jason's objection earns him a nasty jab to the nose. As his eyes water, G knows he still holds centre stage. He can feel the heat from the glare of their Foster Father, scorch the back of his exposed neck, and he tells himself to get back up. You never take your eyes off them, especially when they have been drinking.

Ben Leveret was not just a drinker; he had climbed into the bottle a few months ago and taken up residence there. At the time G had felt _with_ Leveret – you can't bring yourself to feel _for _someone who usually only causes you to feel pain! The fifteen year old had no family, and precious few of his memories, from his life before he became a ward of the State. He couldn't imagine losing your family the way Leveret had – to another person; it almost appeared like carelessness. But right now, with the older man's drunken face pressed so close to his he could hear the grinding of teeth through his skull; none of that mattered much. He had never witnessed this level of agitation in their overseer. The emotions ran wild in his eyes. It popped and snapped along his ticking muscles and the white edges of his clenched fists. Every instinct Callen had, was crying out to him to run.

G's head hurt, and he felt a lump coming, that told him Leveret had put his wife's thick gold wedding band alongside his own. It was only now that he realized two things: firstly Leveret still had a hold of him by the hair, and secondly; Leveret and Jason were locked in a screaming match.

"Get your filthy hands off him man…. He's just a kid!" Jason growled drawing himself up to his full height.

"What did you say to me you ungrateful little…" Leveret's snarl travelled away from Callen, so he never caught the end.

His weak objections were drowned out by the howl that sounded strangely like Jason and the crashing of glass. As the light swung overhead wildly, something had upset it – G could not get his bearings. His eyes would not pull focus. He remained in a frozen half crouch; even though the pressure Leveret had been exerting to keep him stationary had gone.

There was a repetitive, hard sound that seemed to reverberate round the room; it ended sometimes with a gasp sometimes a gurgle. Furniture feel victim to the exchange between Jason and the older former feather weight, Navy boxer. Most frightening of all was the moment that seemed to come very swiftly, when the sharp punctuations of Ben Leveret's tantrum, was no longer being met with any resistance. There was not a sound that G could pick out, that even resembled Jason. Jason Tedrow, the toughest kid in Third and Fifth. Jason who's voice spoke of the promise of adulthood, and joining the forces, and making your own way, and Mary Parkinson's tight black skirt. Jason Tedrow, who had teased him about what his name stood for- 'G-money', 'G-ride'… Jason Tedrow, was dead quiet.

Callen opened his mouth after what could have been years, his lips fumbled his friends name in a whisper. And with out warning, even as he filled his lungs to scream at Leveret, the noise of the front door splintering in, was distinctively heard. He winced at the number of torches that traced out the disheveled state of the lounge. And heard an even, not unfriendly voice explain that he _was_ the police. And it struck G as funny that one man could stand for the whole Police force – talk about your inflated ego?! It struck him as down right hilarious, because he doubled over laughing, right up until the cop pulled him into a tight embrace. Still he couldn't stem the howling flow of emotions that bubbled up from his chest. And one last time, Jason did what he had always done- he made G laugh till he forgot where he was.

With a gasp Callen realized he was on all fours, his head bowed down to the earth. And it was morning. The mostly empty bottle had rolled away from him, but had not dislodged the pain or guilt he felt every time his mind skimmed across the events of that night. Not that he had much of the story. The pitiful holes in what he actually witnessed had become apparent in the interrogation room that the prosecuting Attorney had used today. He was useless. G had stayed down like a coward whilst the kid who had stuck up for him, was mercilessly beaten to death. He couldn't even make that bastard Leveret, pay for what he had done. And the slimy suit that hovered, all but gloating over the councilor's shoulder, said as much. Said how useless his evidence was – how tainted. And that was how he felt right then. Tainted. He wanted nothing more than to lodge the Douche bag's suitcase in his forehead, but he knew it was just himself he was mad at.

G pulled his knees into his chest and sat up a bit straighter when he heard the sound of the Police cruiser draw to a halt. He knew who the officer would be, same cop as from that night. He was a nice enough guy, but G had no use for him. He didn't want friends, he wanted justice. He stiffened as he heard that familiar voice call out to him.

"Hey kid – you gave us one hell of a chase." It was an easy conversational tone, but there was a worried edge to it."Ever consider wearing a Uniform?"

"Why bother what difference does your Uniform make – will it put that Psycho away?" his tone was flat and biting.

The officer blew out a breath he had been holding and approached Callen's side keeping a respectful distance.

"There's just not enough evidence kid…." He began in a sad voice.

Callen spun to catch his eye, his blue gaze darkening.

"Yeah cause Jason was beaten to a pulp by the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles!" G growled.

"I am not saying its right kid – I saw. It makes no sense sometimes, you kids should be safe in these homes, and he ought to have been… There's just not a lot you can get done with no evidence. It's how the system works."

"Obviously – the system's broken then…. How can you guys not find something?" Callen demanded his temper still riding high.

"For what it's worth – I'm sorry kid. Your friend – he was one brave soul, sticking up for you like that."

And without realizing it, the Officer broke the last of Callen's reserves, and as the wind left his sails he walked quietly behind the cop, back to the cruiser. You can't hide from the truth. Jason had been the brave one. He'd made that particular hellhole seem more bearable; because he had seen past the sentence they were both serving under Leveret's roof. It was not 'home' in any sense, save one – he had met Jason Tedrow there. And Jason had looked out for Callen, for no other reason, than it was the right thing to do. He had teased G about his name, and spoke about the promise of adulthood, and Mary Parkinson's tight black skirt…. And the more he thought about it, the more G came round to believing the armed forces idea, wasn't half bad.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N; It has been a really long time since I have updated this, I am greatful to everyone for leaving their reviews or following this story. Sorrry for the delay. And a huge Thank you to Angelprincess for her gentle proding and all her hard work Beta-ing.  
**_**

* * *

Home where there's nothing but sweet surrender  
To the memories from afar  
Home to the place  
Where the truth lies waiting  
We remember who we are**_

_**( "I Want To come- Home" Paul McCartney)**_

G had been in the comfortable, well maintained but well used, Rostov family home for half an hour now. He had met Katia and Ivan. They had not been the first genuinely nice couple he had ever stayed with, but at fourteen those open trusting faces became more cloaked – and more elusive. People seemed to wonder what it was about you that made you so unlovable that you were still in the system. And no matter how congenial they were with you; they were always on their guard. And by fourteen, Callen had learned enough of the game to be on his guard also. Besides, there wasn't a day he didn't wake up wondering too. Oh he no longer cried himself to sleep at night – he knew he had to tread carefully, bide his time till he made it to eighteen… or died trying. That had been an in joke at the last place he was at, and it kind of stuck. So he kept moving, cause moving targets are harder to hit. That was practically the story of his life! It held true for emotional ties too. You never got too invested with any of these passing people, it only hurt more when the good times ended. In fact G almost preferred the darker places to those that had that alarming 'homey' quality. Almost.

The Rostov's were new at this. He could tell. They were too honest with him, for a start. Katia … or Kat as she preferred to be called…. Practically glowed as she welcomed him with open arms and a warm embrace. He felt himself stiffen defensively and the Social worker may have coughed politely, indicating a slight breech in etiquette. Kat turned a little pink, but the warmth from her blue eyes never wavered. He listened to her tell him how happy she was to meet him, and how happy he'd be with them, how he didn't have to worry about formalities and he should just go ahead and tell them if they were messing up too badly, cause they were new at this. Another cough from the Social worker brought a small annoyed furrow to her pretty forehead and a laugh from Ivan.

Ivan Rostov was tall and reserved in comparison to his wife. He shook G's hand and introduced himself with a slightly lilted accent, which told G, unlike Kat, this man had not been born in America. He mentioned their four year old daughter Alena, and his hope that G was a fast runner, or he'd be the one stuck at all the tea parties. G smiled politely at the joke, still scanning for the telltale signs that he may be leaving this house sooner rather than later. Finding none, he decided to ride this one out for a while, and gave the Social worker _the look_.

Upon receiving the Green light, and it being Friday evening; Harry Stapleton left his last case in the care of the rookies and hightailed it out of there. G blew out a know it all chuckle as he watched the dust settle in his Social Worker's tracks. Now the fun began. It was time to see who these two really were, although Callen was intrigued as to why the young couple would pick a Foster child from his end of the age scale, when they had one of their own … and judging from the bulge in Kat's sundress, another on the way.

"You wonder why we wanted you?" Ivan asked quietly, pretending not to notice the way the teenager was taking stock of his surroundings.

G watched the dark haired man closely as he answered. "Maybe I am. Would you tell me if I asked?"

Ivan finally looked up meeting the boy's eyes squarely. "I thought I was unable to have children…. Then Alena came."

Callen watched as the tall man put a protective arm round his wife. "And now another… how'd you say? Miracle? This is how long it takes the authorities here to trust an honest man with a different accent."

"So I arrived too late?" Callen supplied matter of factly, only marginally ticked that these two hadn't spoken up earlier in the process and saved him what would probably now be a weekend stay at an overcrowded boys shelter.

"Oh Ivan – don't tease him." Katia admonished with a playful elbow, whilst moving into G's personal space again and guiding him with a protective arm toward the kitchen table.

"He means well, his comic timing is off. Ivan has only just been approved Fostering status, but it has been a long term wish of his to care for those growing up the same way he did." Kat continued, indicating a chair as she went into the fridge.

G heard Mr. Rostov laughingly call out that he was going to pick up Alena.

"So what's in this for you – you have your… hands full, you don't need … I am not one of your Miracles."

Katia Rostov pulled her head out of the fridge and closed the door slowly. G realized that he had spoken out of turn; she had done nothing to earn his sarcasm. He watched her guiltily as she pulled out the nearest chair to him and sat down gracefully looking at him the whole time.

"You misunderstand us. We did not want just any child to Foster. The young ones – the babies, everyone wants them, but those who are a little older, like Ivan when he lost his parents, those are the ones he wants to help."

Callen swallowed, trying to push something down. It felt a little like hope, and it was damn dangerous in this game. He was sure they meant well, but what the hell did they know …. They were nine years too late. Kat seemed to notice the emotion that threatened to leak out. Without warning G found himself cradled in the warmest embrace he had encountered in years. And he fought to break away.

"Let go!" his defiance came out sounding like defeat. "Don't … leave me…"

And his objections stopped at his lips because he found he was clinging to her. To his utter shock, not only did he allow this oddly familiar stranger into his personal space but he hurt at the thought of letting her go. She reminded him of….

G shook himself out of the threatening daydream he was about to slip into. The only fragment of his Mother he remembered. Katia Rostov smelled like violets, just like his mother. He pushed himself away from the table, from Kat, from that smell- from his past. Her voice followed him to the sink, where he drew a glass of water with shaking hands. He lost himself in concentrating on the clear liquid winding itself into the tall glass. The same glass that smashed in the sink as he jumped when she touched is shoulder.

"I'm so sorry G. Whatever I said that hurt you, I never meant to." Kat pleaded.

He shook his head deliberately, taken by surprise by the force of his most cherished and least welcomed memory.

"I will, replace the glass." He said hollowly unable to raise his eyes or stem the tears.

"Please G; just look at me, please?"

There was a note in her voice that he could not ignore and as he raised his devastated blue eyes to her. He prepared himself for _that_ speech that began; "Maybe this is not the best fit" or "Perhaps you need a better suited placement?" But it never came.

Katia never took her hand away from its resting spot on his shoulder. She smiled warmly at him.

"I really hated that glassware set." She stated simply.

G blinked away the last stray telltale tears more than a little surprised at her response.

"What do you say we start over? Hi, my name is Kat, I hope you will think of our house as yours, we _are_ very glad you came." She held her hand out to him.

He glanced at her steady slim hand, held out between them like an olive branch. But in truth she had done nothing wrong. The fault was his, the weakness had been his. Her only crime had been to remind him of a fragile, hazy memory that was frayed at the edges and dimly lit in his minds eye. The smell of violets hung all around him and danced in her curly blonde hair. His arms were locked round her in a crushing show of five year old strength; because he was being a stickle brick, and was stuck to his Mother.

"Uh-oh. I'm stuck Mom. I can't ever let you go." He heard his own childish voice carry to him with a giggle.

The reply had been lost somewhere along the way- he never tried too hard to recover it, it stung too much already. Still.

He found himself taking her hand and shaking it. "Hi, my name is G. And yes, thank you I might just stick around."

* * *

End; "Stickle- bricks" are a pre-school building toy... for those of you that haven't had the pleasure (or excuse! ) of playing with them yet.

Thanks for reading! Abi.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N;** Thank you to all who are following this randomness! I am really just having fun with the character- G is just so well written. I have been linking the theme of 'Home' loosely throughout, here it's about G's first unercover job, and the way he found a 'Home' for his talents. (Not too clunky I hope?) Let me know what you think, always enjoy hearing how this comes across. And again, thanks for reading. Abi.

**

* * *

******

Home CH-4

_For too long  
I was out on my own  
Every day I spent trying to prove  
I could make it alone  
It was fun hanging onto the moon  
Heading into the sun  
But it's been too long  
Now I want to come home_

_(I Want to Come) Home ~ Paul McCartney._

Don't struggle, don't offer resistance, stay down. Stay still; let the pain roll over you.

In his head he knew that taking this beating was part of the charade. It was a necessary sacrifice to purchase the information he came for. All this time he had been working his way towards this very moment. Strange as it may be… and thus was his life…. This beat down was the very reason he was here. Being beaten into this gang was the one thing that would guarantee their trust and his inclusion in their plans. The same plans he fully intended to derail. Just as soon as he was through taking a kicking!

One of the 2 N 2 Blackdog members had taken a special dislike to him. Callen was pretty certain it was the same vicious bastard who was currently trying to remold his kidneys. Blows to his torso and a few well placed upper cuts to his jaw had him reeling, and caused black spots to dance in front of his eyes. But it was the pummeling he was taking to his back that gave him the most cause for concern. If he was to finish his assignment he'd need to have the ability to stand.

His head might have just about got the hang of things, in his heart however he wanted to beat the living snot out of every one of these Boys in the Hood wannabe's. Callen had always had a problem with feigning vulnerability in this way. It probably had to do with one (or nine) too many freehanded Foster carers. All his young life he'd been at the mercy of someone else's disposition, drug of choice, bad day, or whim. That all changed on his fifteenth birthday when he'd stilled the falling fist and actually threw a punch of his own. Ok that had ended with a black eye and a busted lip, but it was the closest he had ever been to a draw in his life. He had to make this convincing because he no longer played to draw, he was playing to win.

This was his first deep cover job with the Narc squad. It suited him fine; his eternal dislike for staying still had him itching for a move anyway. As Chris McDermott, he was a loan out from a CIA task force that dabbled in Customs and export, but mostly zeroed in on drugs and human trafficking. He had seen his fair share of action at twenty five, and seen enough of the Law Enforcement to know both sides of the tracks fairly competently. Right now he had to cross those tracks in the hope of finding a weak link in the 2N2 organization. If he was successful he would have the snot kicked out of him and then take his place in the fold as a member. Problem was if they didn't want you in their club, these bastards would just keep going until the only place you'd be fit to take was a six by four hole in the ground. Callen was beginning to wonder and then he felt a rib crack.

/

"They are not buying it Dylan!"

Jamerson watched the small monitor in the mobile Tactical support vehicle currently masquerading as a drycleaners on wheels, or whatever weird and wonderful get up accommodated him, his five man swat team and their gear.

"Give the kid a chance Bill." Jamerson answered even as the sweat clearly rose on his balding head.

"A chance to what – gain the ability to fold in half and be stuffed into a suitcase? They've made him. He was too hesitant, or too young, or too straight…. Who the hell knows, but I am telling you…."

Bill Reid's tirade was halted and apparently proven in the same instant on the screen in front of them.

A side door squealed open to admit Harvell the gangs second in command and a struggling blonde girl a few years younger than Callen. Reid's face spoke volumes as the stooge they had used to gain Callen entrance, a bail jumper named Chastity Watts, was dragged into the room by her hair. The only word that issued from the veteran to his team was,

"Go!"

The Rookie had been made, and had approximately three minutes to live. Time to pull the plug.

/

"Set him up" Harvell commanded his accent crooning over the order and relishing his power.

Callen was roughly hauled up and bit his already bleeding lip to keep from crying out as his newly weakened ribcage protested at the angle they held him at.

"This skank says some interesting things 'bout you – Chris." The taller man emphasized his name nastily. "She says she never met you 'fore this week."

Callen tried not to glance at the .45 hanging lazily in the other man's hand as he fought with the heavily bleeding cut above his eye, to meet Harvell's menacingly calm gaze.

"H-how long since h-her l,l-ast h-hit …. Her own M-mother m,m,might well b-b-be Big B,bird to her t,t,then." Callen stammered, unsure how much of it was the act and how much the adrenaline surge.

"I say it smell like bacon in here yo." a particularly keyed up voice asserted

G spared the angry dark-haired tanned youth a glance, and sure enough it was the same guy who'd tried to remold his internal organs like play dough.

" M-mmann don't do this!" G's voice pleaded. "I came up thr-through Souttthhy jus l,like youse."

"Oh yeah cuz? Who'd you know that I'd know?" Play dough guy asked in a relaxed tone that was at odds with the way he pointed his gun at G's prone head and released the safety.

G's mind raced. Street Math told him he had about a minute to live. His heart pounded but he felt the blood course through his body energizing his will to survive. He fought his way to a more upright position biting back a groan at the white hot pain that lanced through his chest. This was not going down like this; he'd fought too damn hard to bow out this way. He was good at his job, he was better than this.

Smiling cockily and exposing his bloodied mouth he answered. "Your Mamma!" and proceeded to spit blood over the disgusted looking man's pristine white loafers.

A howl of laughter choked off the oncoming storm in the gangbangers eyes, Harvell actually snorted as he gasped out.

"Leave him Tinchy … man those shoes were whack anyways. You new boy, take the Bitch out and put her down. Tinchy will help you – jus in case you can't finish what you started."

G glanced at the huge terrified eyes of their informant looking every inch the pigeon. She was shaking her head and babbling to herself. He tried to catch her gaze and will her to shut the hell up, but it didn't work.

/

Reid slung a hand out halting the two agents nearest him when he heard the order to abort from Jamerson.

"Repeat?" he growled quietly into his comlink.

"Confirm, Stand down…. The kid's got this one Bill. Maintain presence."

Reid snorted Jamerson was so focused on results and shutting up the Press and the higher ups he'd call loosing newbie and getting Harvell and the Dogs for his murder, a result. He shook his head in disgust. Kid had picked the wrong frigging time to learn the ropes!

/

G watched in horror as his comeback took a pretty significant downward turn. He'd grabbed the wittering Miss Watts and repeatedly tried to catch her hazy, pie high eyes, to reassure her that he meant her no harm; he would get them both out of this- somehow! Chastity had other ideas. She began to struggle against the moderate pressure of his grasp. The rest of the gang began to laugh and pass rude remarks about his ability with women. He ignored their taunts of "Hold yo hoe there boy!" and gave her a shake as he saw that Harvell had begun to watch his actions more closely with every passing second that the girl lived. As the second in command he was only used to being ignored by Conrad; the Gangs leader. G had to get them both the hell out of here, where the hell was the back up? Surely they didn't expect him to protect his cover by executing a strung out crack whore? His eyes softened a little as he looked down at the trembling girl who'd begun to cry. Besides, she'd chosen her own downfall.

The gun shot split the air and jerked him violently out of his thoughts. Her blood sprayed upwards onto him. Pumping hot liquid caught him in the face and entered his mouth, which seemed to have fallen open in shock even as the room erupted in laughter from the gang closely followed by the splintered entrance of the S.W.A.T team. He didn't register the screams of the agents round him to disarm or suffer the consequences. He didn't feel Bill Reid place a hand on his shoulder as another faceless man pried his death grip on the dead hooker open. He only tuned in when Reid drew his hand back and smacked him hard enough to make his ears ring.

"Whoa, whoa there kid." Reid fended off Callen's counterblows, as the shell-shocked Agent swing blindly on pure instinct. "I just needed to make sure you weren't injured.

Callen glared at the other man. "Where were you before I had the opportunity to get injured?"

"Hey listen Princess, this isn't amateur dramatics – there are no frigging cues or signs leading you to the right way. Maybe this job isn't for you if undercover…."

"Go screw yourself … Captain" G spat liking the darkening he saw in the other man's eye, because right now he just needed something to hit, really badly. "It's not our job to go choosing who's worth saving and who makes the juiciest bait!"

Reid snarled slightly at the man attempting to get between him and the mouthy rookie in front of him. With an overly zealous pull he manhandled the kid out of the packed room.

"Firstly – you did about a million things wrong in there…." The older man began hotly once they were in the near deserted back hallway.

"I could have gotten her out damn it!" G returned angrily.

"Listen up G-ina – I don't have time to hold your hand and braid your hair every time a thing like this goes wrong- and yes that was pretty fucked up, and you…." Reid trailed off glancing at the younger man in front of him, with the earnest eyes and the baby face.

Swiping a hand over his face he sighed. "You showed some natural God given talent in there. I would never have reached you in time, you were marked for sure but you kept your head…"

"And Chastity lost hers." Callen growled the heat in his face still not subsiding.

Bill Reid hid his grin. The fact that this newbie wasn't so focused on building his own damn Career that he had forgot he was in the 'Protect and Serve' business, was somewhat endearing the smartass to the grizzled veteran. There was no denying the kid had the knack – and what he lacked in age he seemed to make up for in self confidence. This one he could work with, he might just be able to find a home for the talents of one Mr. on his team.

Out loud he replied gruffly. " We do the best we can to break even kid- control is an illusion for punks with chips on their shoulders or assholes who didn't get enough cuddle time with Mommy and are out to prove something. Which are you?"

"Minimizing the danger to those we are supposed to be protecting is no illusion; it's our job. And… I'm both actually!" G supplied in a challenging tone.

Bill Reid threw his head back and laughed. "Me too! Welcome to the team Son! "

.


End file.
